


Then Comes Marriage

by Fatebegins



Series: Edited To Add [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Violence, Organized Crime, Same-Sex Marriage, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles plan their wedding, and actually go through with it this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then Comes Marriage

***Derek***  
  
“Pink.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“ _Yes_.” Stiles eyes are mischievous when Derek looks down at him with annoyance. “What? It’s a good color for a summer wedding.  Pink lilies are a huge seller at the store from May to August.”  
  
“There’s no way I’ll have a pink and black wedding.” Stiles’ head is pillowed in Derek’s lap as he goes through his color sample book. He thinks it’s cute and adorable and cuddly but Derek’s dick is confused by the amount of contact and lack of action.  
  
Translation, it’s been very hard to comprehend  any of what Stiles is saying. Pun intended.  
  
 “You’re not listening.” Stiles jabs him in the side and it’s true, Stiles lips are proving to be very distracting. “Pink is the new black.”  
  
“Are we really doing this right now?”  
  
Leave it to Stiles to want to talk about the wedding when they had the room to themselves. It’s not often that they can have time to just be, and Derek loves the little runt but Dylan is a cock blocking ninja lately.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Fine,” Shifting back because he‘s clearly not even going to get a hand job, let alone sex, Derek tugs Stiles hair teasingly. “Black is the new black.”  
  
“You’re the worst.” Stiles huffs, and turns the page. “Then what about green? It’s the new black.”  
  
“Liar.” Derek bends down, meeting Stiles halfway for an off center kiss.    
  
It’s sloppy and more teeth than anything else but it works. Especially when Stiles turns his head, changes the angle to suck on his tongue.  
  
This time the hair pulling is anything but teasing.     
  
Stiles makes a small, appreciative whimper in response, pulls back just a breath. “I didn’t know you had such a thing for my hair.”  
  
“I didn’t know I had a thing for your hair until you grew it out.” Finally, it looks like wedding plans can be put on hold. They have a date, a venue, everything else will fall into place on it‘s own. “Love grabbing it, holding you down; so fucking sexy the way you ride--”  
  
“You said a bad word!”  
  
Both of them spring apart, Stiles jumps about five feet in the air and Derek makes a grab for him but misses, and he falls off the couch.  
  
At the doorway, the cause of their shock is completely unconcerned.  Dylan is standing  there in his footed pajamas, rubbing sleepily at his eyes with his little fists as his blankie trails behind him.  
  
What did Derek say? _Ninja_.  
  
They’d tucked him in with his stuffed animals over two hours ago; those library books on sleeping training toddlers were apparently bullshit.  
  
“We didn’t know you were up.” Stiles winces as he gets to his feet. “So Daddy and I were having a grown up conversation.”  
  
Dylan comes over, leaving his blanket behind for Robin to  snatch up. “It’s not morning?”  
  
“You see the sun, kid?”  
  
In response, Dylan giggles and climbs up onto the couch. The little munchkin is too powerful for Derek to be annoyed, one oblivious little smile and he melts.  
  
“One of these days, Dylan. we’re going to have to have a long talk.”  
  
“No.” Dylan replies and Stiles laughs, sitting down on his other side. “What are you doing?” He touches the laminated pages of the color samples. “Coloring? Daddy said no color on his carpet.”  
  
“We’re looking at colors for our wedding.” Stiles shoots a glare at Derek over Dylan’s head--so he wants to keep his white carpet white, sue him -- and  turns the page of the book, taps the corner of a pale green block. “You like this one, Dyl? It’s a special  kind of green called mint.”  
  
“Yeah!” Dylan nods enthusiastically, eyes going wide at the word ‘special.’ “I wanna pick the color, can I have this one?”  
  
Derek scowls at Stiles’ triumphant smirk.  
  
He fights dirty.  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
Derek groans, imagines himself trussed up some hideous suit. “Mint it is.”  
  
***Stiles***  
  
Coming home is Stiles’ favorite part of his day, not because  work is over, not because he can finally escape Lydia’s infinite chatter about Hydrangeas but because for once, home feels like _home_. It feels like the place he dreamt of when he was a kid, somewhere with warmth and laughter and love. His father had tried, he did, but after his mother died, home died with it.  
  
“Honey,” Stiles calls out as he lets himself inside the penthouse. “I’m home!”  
  
It’s incredibly cheesy but so what, he doesn’t care. Stiles can be cheesy all he wants. He has a smoking hot fiancé, an amazing little boy and he’s planning an awesome, appropriately themed Marvel Comic wedding.  
  
Fine, the last part is in his head; Derek had vetoed the idea instantly. But who cares, at the end of the day, hey were going to say I do on December 31, and bring in the  New Years as husbands.  
  
Usually, Derek will be in the living room, ready to greet Stiles with a cute smile he tries to hide behind a scowl but today Robin is the only person who even notices his arrival. It’s clear from the erratic banging and clangs echoing through the halls that Derek and Dylan are in the middle of some sort of project.  
  
Stiles follows the noise to the kitchen, and stops short.    
  
The messes that Derek allows Dylan to make astound him, meanwhile, it’s the end of the world if Stiles puts his shoes on the bed.  
  
“Really?” The black tiled floors are coated in flour, pots and pans line the granite countertops and even Derek’s precious two hundred dollar v-neck tee shirt is soiled. “You need an intervention.”  
  
Derek doesn’t look remotely apologetic.  
  
“Donuts! Donuts!” Dylan chants, happily sprinkling powdered sugar over the fresh, deep fried dough he has laid out on a paper towel in front of him.  “Now I know, Poppy.”  
  
“What happened to following the Obama food chart, huh?” Stiles puts down the bag of groceries he’s been carrying unto the counter top. His son’s face is covered in powdered sugar and chocolate. Stiles looks at Derek pointedly, “You want Dylan to wobble into preschool?”  
  
“He ate all his broccoli at lunch.” Derek shrugs, “And he wanted to know how donuts are made.”  
  
“So you made them for him? How do you even know how?”  
  
“Amazing what you can find on you tube.”  
  
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to learn how to tell him no.” Stiles surveys the contents of the refrigerator, “My kid owns you; a three year old bullies you.”  
  
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Derek comes up behind him, arms snaking around his middle as he kisses his neck.  Instantly, Stiles is awash in his scent, clean and fresh, just a hint of pine. “How was work? That new girl cause a mutiny yet? ”  
  
“I don’t think Lydia understands that I’m her boss and therefore I know more, no matter what fancy degree she‘s pursuing. I can see some issues coming up--Oh! And I meant to tell you, I got the order for the Rosenblatt’s bar mitzvah, and they paid half upfront. Things are looking up, and the damn refinance will work out, so we can, you know, answer the phone again, move on up to the eastside.”  
  
Derek chuckles, “It’s not that bad.”  
  
“Just about.”  
  
A frown, “Has the bank really been fucking with you? Why didn’t you say something? I’m going to--”  
  
“No breaking legs.” Stiles stops him firmly. The refinancing he did when he thought he was indebted to the mob is still biting him in the ass but he doesn’t want Derek involved.  “New leaf and all that.”  
  
“Yeah,” Derek’s eyes slide away from his. “New leaf.”  
  
***Derek***  
  
Derek’s lived in this little suburb town since his Uncle sent for him and none of this is familiar. True, he’s lived here but he’s never experienced it. Now,  he notices so much: the group of students that hang by the fountain after school, the  dog park that fills up with the residents from the nursing home,  the strip of diners in what the locals affectionately call ‘heartburn highway.’  
  
Dylan has made the town come to life, he loves exploring every thing; has a fearlessness that is as admirable as it is foolish. His confidence comes from having people in his life, parents that he knows will take care of him.    
  
Derek is not Rafael. He wants to be the guy who never lets Dylan down. He wants to be that guy for both of them.  
  
“I like the pink one the best.” Dylan informs as he sips his tall, strawberry milkshake. He’s standing up in the booth, seated across from Derek.  
  
It’s Derek’s first venture down heartburn highway but apparently Dylan’s been there with Stiles before.  
  
“I’m feelin’ the chocolate.” Derek replies and Dylan smiles at him approvingly.

“Can I have some fries?”  
  
“Sure.” Derek slides his half finished plate over, not mentioning to Dylan that he hasn’t even touched his own grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings.  Dylan always prefers to eat from his plate for some reason. “They’re still a little hot, be careful.”  
  
“You be careful.”  
  
Derek laughs, shaking his head;  kid is sassing him already.  
  
Ten minutes later, Derek is trying to hold the runt down so he can wipe off the copious amounts of ketchup he’s managed to smear all over his face.  
  
“NOOO!” Dylan isn’t having it, no doubt cranky because it’s past the time he usually naps. “No, DADDY NO. STOP!”  
  
People are looking now and Derek wishes Stiles was here. One sharp look from him and Dylan shuts up fast. It’s one of the perks of being the disciplinarian.  
  
“NOO-”  
  
“Derek?”  
  
Derek cringes when he hears the familiar voice.  
  
“Derek fucking Hale, you bastard, I thought that was you!”  
  
Sure enough, Jackson Whittimore is smirking down at him, hands jammed into his expensive jeans and teeth blinding white.  
  
Jackson isn’t what you would call an old friend, bu that’s what he is. They used to run in the same circles until Jackson got caught up in a white collar pull gone wrong. Unlike Derek, Jackson wasn’t born into the lifestyle; he chose it. There’s no sad story to Jackson, he was adopted by a rich family, rebelled when he was a teenager, and then kept on rebelling until all the money in the world couldn‘t save his ass from the penn.  
  
“Jackson.” Derek shifts Dylan on his lap and miraculously, the boy quiets, hides his face in Derek’s chest. “Been awhile, didn‘t know you got out.”  
  
“Good behavior, parole for two years.” Jackson replies bitterly. “What are you up to nowadays? Who does the kid belong to? ”  
  
“He’s mine.”  
  
“Holy fuck, Derek Hale a family man, who's the lucky broad? Erica? She around?” Uninvited, Jackson slides in to the empty space across from them. “How’s Peter been?”  
  
“My fiancé is the other father.”  
  
“Right,”  Jackson’s eyes are calculating.  “Listen, there’s a reason why I’m back in town. There’s a job--”  
  
“I don’t do that any more.”  
  
“It’s legit shit, just some coke and heroine--”  
  
“What the hell?” Derek wants to choke him. Only Jackson would be fucking blasé about drugs in the middle of a family diner. “You mind not repeating that in front of my son?”  
  
“It’s just some blow.” And there it is, that cocky foot ball team captain smirk that reminds Derek why he always had the urge to punch Jackson in the face. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft? You’re on your period? Need some tampons?”  
  
“I’m leaving.”  
  
“C’mon Derek, it’s a one time thing, and a lot of cash.”  
  
“I don’t need money.”  
  
“For now, but who are you kidding?” He gestures to Dylan. “That kid is going to cost you. What the fuck else are you qualified for? This is what you do, this is your job. It’s nothing shameful and we‘re damn good at it. ”  
  
“I don’t need money.” Derek gets to his feet, drops two twenties on the table to cover their bill.  “Don’t let me see you around, again, I might just come out of retirement and make my last hit count.”  
  
  
***Stiles***  
  
“I’m just saying, if it were _my_ wedding, I’d want someone to tell me that the color scheme was gothic.”  
  
“But it’s not.” Stiles resists the urge to stamp his foot, he‘s feeling especially frustrated. “And maybe I want it to be gothic.”  
  
“You told me summer, and summer means--”  
  
Thankfully, the little jingle that signals  a customer sounds.  
  
“Lydia, there’s a customer.”  
  
“This discussion is not over.” Lydia flips her red hair over her shoulder, “It will be revisited.”  
  
Stiles is repotting petunias when the back door opens, expecting Lydia he turns with a forced smile. It melts to a genuine one once he spots Derek’s tall frame and familiar aviators.  
  
“Hey.” Stiles doesn’t pretend to not be thrilled. He wipes his hands down the front of his apron before all but pouncing on Derek. “I definitely need a hug, and a kiss.”  
  
Derek complies, cocky smile playing at his lips even as they brush across his own.  “Just a kiss? That all you want?”  
  
Because it‘s a curse, Stiles blushes. “Lydia will be back here in a few seconds to torture me.”  
  
“Nope.” Smile spreading, Derek shakes his head slowly, hands sliding down to squeeze Stiles’ ass. “I sent her out for a walk with Dylan.”  
  
“Did I mention I love you?” All the stress of the day and the wedding melt away, once Derek pulls him close. “We have the back room to ourselves.”  
  
“Nothin’ wrong with a little dirt on the knees.”  
  
Laughing, Stiles drags him back to the little space that serves as his office. It doesn’t offer much in terms of privacy, but it’s better than being out in the open with the potted plants.  
  
“I need you.” Stiles steps in close, kisses Derek and taste coffee and a hint of nicotine. There’s nothing sexier than how Derek tastes, and Stiles gets heady just thinking about having that for the rest of his life. “Tell me again why we‘re not eloping?”  
  
“Cause I hate Elvis and I love you.”  
  
“Sweet talker.” Stiles slides a hand through Derek’s thick dark hair, reels him in for a bruising kiss. “ How do you manage to look so sexy at 2 in the afternoon?”  
  
“Perks of not having a job.”  
  
“Hm.” Stiles murmurs in agreement before he remembers that hello, he has his hot fiancé in front of him, and talking can be done elsewhere. He‘s already getting hard, eyes drinking in Derek’s dark stubble, gorgeous, full lips. “Wanna…?”  
  
“When do I ever say no?” Stripping off his jacket, Derek pushes Stiles back against the small table that serves as his desk. Something like electricity sparks through Stiles when Derek kisses him, long and dirty, tongue pushing inside his mouth, mimicking the slow roll of his hips.  
  
Kissing Derek is like candy and lollipops and roller coasters and every fucking good thing Stiles can think of. There’s no way he can get close enough, but he tries, opens his legs for Derek to slot between. Their cocks align, hard denim pushing against his crotch.  
  
When Stiles breaks the kiss, Derek’s thumbs hook around the band of his jeans and  tug them down past his hips, pulling his underwear off with it.  
  
Derek’s cocky grin grows as he grips the shaft of Stiles‘ cock. “This for me, baby?”  
  
“Ugh, you’re like a bad porn movie. I shouldn‘t-” Stiles groans when Derek’s finger flicks the leaking tip and his hips jerk forward.  “ Forget it, yeah. Yes.”  
  
Watching  Derek get on his knees makes him see stars. His palms go clammy against the warm wood of the desk, scramble back to grip the edges. There is nothing in the world Stiles loves more than head, he knows it, Derek knows it-- _Oh god, Derek knows it_.    
  
Warm heat encases the head of his cock and Stiles bites his bottom lip hard to keep from shouting, it feels that damn good. And Derek isn’t playing around, the suction is strong, his hands coming up to massage his balls and his tongue flicks against the sensitive underside. It goes on and on and for once, Derek doesn’t pull back when he lifts his hips, fucks his mouth.  
  
“Shit.” Stiles moans, there’s no better way to relieve stress. Seriously. He’s going to come. “I need-”  
  
“I know what you need.” Derek’s voice is hoarse when he pulls off and Stiles feels immensely proud that he’s the reason. He’s about to tell Derek he’s doing just fine and now would be a great time to get back to the cock sucking when  Derek lifts his legs up and apart, braces his legs over his broad shoulder.  
  
Derek’s tongue licks over his hole and Stiles word goes grey at the edges.  
  
“Holy fuck!”  
  
Against  his thigh, Derek chuckles, breath bursting across his furled entrance in bursts of warm air. And God, does Stiles love Derek, especially when he gets back to it, licks along the rim like it’s his favorite flavor, all the while keeping up a running monologue  about how good he tastes, how hot he is and how he can‘t wait to fuck him.  
  
It should be impossible to be so turned on and simultaneously so embarrassed, but he is. His skin feels too hot, his entire world centered between his legs were Derek’s eating him out.  
  
Stiles feels like he’s going to come any moment, tugs on Derek’s hair until he pulls back. “Fuck me, Derek, _please_.”  
  
“Who sounds like a bad porn now?” With a remarkable lack of his usual finesse, Derek gets on a condom, produces a packet of lube  from his wallet to open Stiles up. He’s barely got two fingers working inside, tries for three,  before Stiles tugs him down and lifts his hips.  
  
Fortunately, Derek takes the hint, lines up his fat cock and thrusts inside of him with one forceful thrust. Stiles muffles his scream of pleasure, already lifting his hips to match Derek’s rhythm.  
  
This isn’t gentle sex, it’s tumultuous, animalistic, rough and primal.  
  
It’s exactly what he needs.  
  
Every hard thrust hits just the right spot. Stiles never wants it to end, the best feeling on earth is being connected, becoming one, with the person he loves.  
  
All too soon he can feel his body tightening, balls drawing up and back arching as he comes, sprays hot and wet between them. Derek makes a sound, kisses his brow as he snaps his hips, making the orgasm even more intense.  
  
Boneless, Stiles holds on to Derek as he fucks into him deeper, spears him open. Derek’s eyes are screwed tightly shut, his lips slightly parted  as he comes with a  hoarse groan. A half a dozen more thrust and Stiles can feel his heat filling the condom.  For a moment he almost wishes that there was nothing in between them.  
  
“You’re so sexy when you come.” Stiles bites his neck, sucks hard enough to leave a mark, “You feel so good.”  
  
Derek rests his sweaty forehead against Stiles’, eyes  bright. “We definitely need to do this more often.”  
  
“Agreed.” Stiles still can’t catch his breath and Derek isn’t helping because he keeps kissing him.  “Thanks for the booty call.”  
  
Mock indignation, and Derek lifts up to glare at him. “That all I am to you?”  
  
“It jokes!” Stiles grins, pulling him back in. “You never cease to amaze me.” Turning his head, Stiles presses a kiss right below his Adam’s apple. “I love you, _honeybunch_.”  
  
“And the moment is ruined.”  
  
***Derek***  
  
Derek has never been what anyone would call well adjusted. He knows how others perceive him, they say he’s cold, merciless; they’re not wrong.   But in his line of work, you couldn’t walk around with a fucking Charlie Brown smile.  
  
Still, when  the check out girl averts her  eyes a third time, Derek starts to get pissed. It’s been months. And he smiled at the bitch last week.  She could at least return the favor.  
  
“Thank you.” Derek tells her after she slides over his receipt.  
  
In response the girl nods, hand going to the cross hanging around her neck nervously.  
  
Okay, and seriously, he’s not a fucking vampire.  
  
The thing is, when he worked for his uncle, Derek wanted that fear, needed it. But he doesn’t work with Peter anymore and he doesn’t appreciate being  treated like a psycho. He’s a fucking stay at home dad for all intents and purposes.  
  
Being ostracized is getting old, especially when he’s looking for a career change. As much as he hates to admit it, Jackson’s comments had gotten to him. What the fuck else is he qualified to do as a high school drop out with technically no training or work experience?  
  
It’s not like he can write ‘racketeering’  in on his resume.  
  
Derek’s unemployed and unemployable; that’s definitely not what Stiles wants or deserves, some loser who hangs around all day. Sounds way too much like Rafael.  
  
“You get it?” Stiles is waiting for him outside, still wearing his hideous work apron. He has dirt all over his jeans and there’s an errant flower petal caught in his hair.  
  
“One disgusting meatball sub.” Derek thrusts the greasy bag at him before taking control of Dylan’s stroller. The boy is sound asleep, worn out from trying to kill himself all day. Derek had found out the hard way today that Dylan is a daredevil. “If you get fat don’t expect me to stay with you. The moment the scale tips; I’m out.”  
  
“Liar.” Stiles grins, arm looping around his waist.  “You love me.”  
  
They walk in companionable silence for a moment, Stiles eating his heart attack inducing sandwich and Derek giving in and taking one bite when harassed to. The hour ends far too quickly.  
  
“Thanks for having lunch with me.” They’re standing outside of the flower shop. “I appreciate it.”  
  
“Not like I have anything else to do.”  And it’s the truth. The honest, pathetic truth.  
  
“You mean besides taking care of our son?”  
  
It’s impossible to hold in his smile at the our. “Ya know, besides that.”  
  
“You know,” And now  Stiles looks unsure, teeth worrying his lower lip. “If you ever…I kind of just assumed that you would and I know it’s really hard…. God, you probably have applications out and--”  
  
Derek cuts him off with a kiss. “Get the pink lilies.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“For the wedding, get the pink lilies.” He kisses him again. “I hear pink is the new black.”  
  
***Stiles***  
  
Stiles has just settled on the couch to watch a movie when the door bursts open and Scott walks right on in.  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“Hey.”  Scott says as he flops down face first on the couch.  
  
Stiles would be amused if he wasn’t so tired. “Not that I’m not graced with your presence and all, but Derek isn’t here.”  
  
“So?” Scott’s voice is muffled by decorative pillows. “We can’t hang out?”  
  
“You never felt the need to hang out with me.”  
  
It’s true, they haven’t exchanged more than two words despite the fact that Stiles has been with Derek for over a year.  And honestly? Scott scares him.  Not Scott per se, but Scott’s creepy, angry husband poses a huge issue. Peter Hale still makes Stiles want to duck under the nearest table and hide.  
  
“I’m staying.”  
  
Stiles considers Scott. The guy is laying on the couch, conveniently ignoring Derek’s no sneakers on his precious furniture rule. He’s grumbling too, muttering about Peter and assholes and some one named Isaac.  
  
“Uh,” Stiles has a good heart, it’s like a curse. He can’t keep his mouth shut and retreat to the safety of his bedroom when the guy is clearly upset. As much as Stiles is lacking in the friend department, Scott literally has no one. It’s kind of sad. “Look, I’m not…I mean you don’t have to talk to me, but if you want to. I’m saying that if you need to--”  
  
“You do talk a lot.”  
  
Okay, rude. “I was trying to help--”  
  
“Peter is an asshole.” Scott blurts out.  “I just want one stupid thing, and all he can talk about is work.”  
  
That’s not really in context. “Well--”  
  
“And I get that he’s busy, I get it . But this is important. What if I talked about some random loser guy all the time? How would he feel? I bet that asshole wouldn‘t like that!”  
  
Stiles is completely lost. “…what are you two fighting about exactly?”  
  
“Isaac is ruining my life!”  
  
Thankfully,  Derek comes home during that outburst.  
  
He takes one look at Scott and rolls his eyes. “Peter’s outside.”  
  
“Like I care.”  
  
“You know he’s not going to leave without you.” Derek sits down next to him, pulls the pillow away from Scott’s face. “So why prolong the inevitable?”  
  
“I can prolong anything I want.”  
  
“Scott--”  
  
“Peter is fucking Isaac.”  
  
Stiles is shocked, looks at Derek who shakes his head and  rolls his eyes again.  
  
“No, he’s not.”  
  
“He spends hours with him, and I have to sit at home and gestate.”  
  
“One, you chose to sit in the apartment and sleep, and two, Isaac is not with Peter all day.”  
  
Scott gets even more angry, “I don’t like Isaac.”  
  
“He’s just a kid.”  
  
“Great, way to bring up how young he is. We all know how your perve uncle has a thing for nineteen year olds.”  
  
“Scott.” Peter comes in now and the silent five trail him as always. The condo is starting to feel small. And how do all of these people have keys? “That’s enough. Let’s not air our domestic, come home with me, now.”  
  
“Shut up, perve.” Scott growls, not looking intimidated in the least. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”  
  
There’s a tick in Peter’s jaw and it’s the most emotion Stiles has ever seen from him. He looks murderous, and Stiles gets a whole new sense of admiration  for Scott because he peeing his pants.  
  
“I’m living with Derek now.”  
  
What? When was that agreed upon?  
  
“Scott.” The rage is gone and Peter looks kind of unsure, which is strange. “Isaac is just a new runner; that’s it. I don’t have contact with him.”  
  
“You said yesterday that he was a ‘quick learner’.”  
  
Things have gone from sad to weird in about twenty seconds flat.  
  
Peter moves forward and Derek gets out of the way. He takes Scott hands between  his, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Still petulant, Scott yanks his hand away. “Whatever.”  
  
“I’ll fire him.” Peter volunteers. “Right now.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“I’d do anything for you.” The words are spoken so low, Stiles almost  misses them. For his part, Peter looks pretty ashamed to be saying them.  
  
It’s kind of sweet seeing another side, a vulnerable  side--  
  
“Want me to break his legs?”  
  
Okay, moment ruined.  
  
Scott however brightens, eyes sparkling with a genuine smile. “You’d do that?”  
  
“Of course.” Peter touches his cheek. “You know that.”  
  
“I love you!” Scott declares, launching himself across the couch.  
  
It’s about thirty seconds of  them kissing and Stiles begins to feel super awkward.    
  
“Peter,” Derek interrupts them. “You should probably get going.”  
  
“We should!” Scott pipes up, dragging Peter behind him. “Thanks for the talk Stiles, but I‘m going back home!”  
  
Peter cuts him a murderous glance and Stiles feels like a fish out of water. There was no talk!  
  
“Finally,” Derek says when the door closes behind the silent five. “Alone.”  
  
“And I  thought we had issues.” Stiles mutters, sliding under Derek’s arm. “Those two are priceless.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Derek… your uncle wouldn’t break my legs, would he?”  
  
Derek laughs.  
  
“That’s not an answer!”  
  
“You’re marrying into the family.”  
  
“I’m going to need a yes or a no on this one.”  
  
***Stiles***  
  
Their wedding is nothing like Stiles expected and every thing he ever dreamt of. The men wear black tuxedos and mint green ties. The church is decked out in pink Lilies and green Dahlias, as much as he hates to admit it Lydia is a master at her craft.  
  
It’s wacky and tacky, but he’s planned it and it’s his.  
  
Derek’s customary scowl disappears for the day and they stand in front of their friends and Derek’s family to exchange vows.  
  
 Dylan is thrilled to be part of the affair, puffing out his chest in pride as he makes his way down with the rings, Robin trotting at his side. Unremarkably, it’s Dylan, instead of the dog, who goes off course. Ever vigilant, Robin nudges him with her nose to get him to complete the walk down the aisle. Everyone laughs and  Stiles is surprised to see Peter crack a smile.  
  
The only dark spot on the day is the absence of his Dad. His father can’t forgive him, and Stiles, as much as he understands, is still hurt.  
  
“You better not have change your mind.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Derek scowls, fingers just this side of tight on his. “The guy just asked you to do your vows and you’re just standing there.”  
  
Oh.  
  
Oh. “I was… well, you can’t really call it day dreaming because today is a dream and I feel like this entire--”  
  
“Stiles,” Derek interrupts gently, and God, Stiles heart is beating overtime with the way he looks; how the green brings out the blues and greys of his eyes. “Your vows.”  
  
***Derek***  
  
There’s no way to describe the moment, and Derek struggles to take it all in. He wants to catalog Stiles’ glittering eyes, the way the light spills in behind him and the moles on his cheek. He wants to commit every second to memory, wants always remember the feel of Stiles hand in his, the slight tremble when he raises the ring.  
  
 “ I, Genim,” There’s a bark of laughter behind them and Stiles fumes. “Shut up, Scott!” Then he turns back to Derek, serene smile firmly back in place. There’s no way Derek can’t smile back. “I, Genim Stilinski, choose you, Derek Hale, to be my husband. In front of our friends and family, I promise to love and cherish you through every obstacle that may come into our path.” Stiles winks, and Derek wonders how the fuck he got so lucky. “I promise to learn how to change a tire and how to refill the screen wash when it runs out.”  There’s more laughter, “ I will comfort you when your team loses and drink beer with you when they win. I will love you always.”  
  
Derek’s had a lot of responsibility in his life, but there isn’t a weight he welcomes more than the gold band that Stiles slides onto his finger.  
  
“Mr. Hale, your vows.”  
  
His vows are  not funny like Stiles. He’s mulled them over a million times in his mind, tried to put into words what he feels and what he wants. Words don’t come easy for him, especially not when someone means so much.  
  
“You better not have changed your mind.” Stiles teases. “Your vows, Derek.”  
  
“I haven’t.” Derek clears his throat, acutely aware of the Family watching, listening. If he’s cheesy, if he gets too emotional they’ll tease him for life. “Uh.”  
  
Eyes encouraging, Stiles smiles up at him and suddenly, Derek doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching.  
  
“I used to think love was bullshit.” The priest is horrified and this time Scott nearly doubles over in laughter. “Sorry, father.”  
  
A warning glare, “Continue.”  
  
“I didn’t believe in love.” Derek clarifies. “ It wasn’t real to me, didn’t make sense. Until I met you. The moment you made me eat all those lollipops because you thought they were poisoned, I fell in love.” Surprise flits across Stiles’ face. “I thought to myself, anyone who’s that brave, that fuc-I mean, fricking-- ballsy enough to take me on is worth my time. And I was right. There isn’t  _anyone_ I would rather have at my side.”  
  
It’s a miracle Derek makes it through his speech, when  Stiles looks happy enough to break into hysterical tears.  
  
“Stiles, I know your more  traditional so, here are some of the promises I intend to keep as your husband.” Derek can’t resist brushing his lips over his just once before continuing; fuck protocol.  “I promise to be the best husband possible. I promise to love you always. I promise to let you have Marvel Comic time or whatever weird thing you're in to.”  
  
“Jerk.” Stiles gives a surprised laugh, eyes wiping at belated tears and Derek feels pretty proud of himself; okay, his vows might be a little funny. “They’re classics!”  
  
“I promise to take care of you when you are sick, but still make you go to work when you are faking. I promise to only set an alarm on weekends when it is absolutely necessary.”  
  
“I love you.” Stiles whispers, “And your sappy, sentimental speech.”  
  
“It’s a one time thing.”  
  
The priest clears his throat and they’re both properly chastised.  
  
It doesn’t matter, the rest of the ceremony doesn’t register. They’ve made their vows to each other, that’s all he needs.  
  
***Stiles***  
  
They don’t go on a honeymoon.  
  
It’s partly Stiles’ fault, okay, it's all his fault. It is after all wedding season and the shop is too busy for him to leave on a trip. Derek is understanding, and it makes Stiles feel worse but, what can you do?  
  
The bell above the door jingles just after Lydia takes her lunch break.  
  
“One minute!” Stiles calls behind him, hurriedly depositing the last of the seed packets under the register. “How can I…”  
  
All words dry on his tongue.  
  
“Hello, Stiles.” Rafael smiles, teeth perfect and white against his tan. It’s the same superficial smile that reeled him in all those years before. “I've missed you.”


End file.
